Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

did what they did.

      Curiosity and a real sense of anticipation hung with her.

      She wanted him to have done well. For his sake.

      The front-runners started to appear amid the small crowd in the pub. She recognised some of them since they were the ones she’d been looking at all afternoon. Their arrival at the Arms was a mini-version of the race order. Clearly there was a procedure followed by most competitors—finish, shower, pub.

      Her eyes drifted to the door yet again.

      The crowd grew too thick in the small pub for her to see the moment Zander actually came through the door, but they spotted each other at virtually the same moment as he turned from the bar. She sucked in a small breath, held it, and smiled.

      As casual as you like. As though this were her local and he’d just happened into it. As though she weren’t three hundred miles from her local. Sitting on the border of a whole other country.

      ‘Georgia?’ His confusion reached her before he did.

      She stood. ‘Congratulations. That was quite a run.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’ It wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t joyous, either. Had she expected pleased?

      She took a deep breath. ‘I thought I’d watch you compete. I just wanted to say hello before I headed off.’ Let you know I’m not a stalker. She reached for her handbag, realising what a desperately bad idea this all was. Not only was she not invited, but she’d intruded on his privacy. Presumed her way into his own space and sporting circle. The least she could do was keep it short.

      She threaded the straps of her handbag in her fingers. ‘How did you do?’

      He shook his head, still trying to come to terms with her presence. ‘Good. Personal best for the distance.’

      She nodded. ‘I saw you make that big break between the chase group and the lead,’ she babbled. ‘That was exciting.’

      He frowned.

      ‘I had lots of time to talk to the spectators,’ she confessed, flushing. ‘Ask me anything about marathon running now...’

      She laughed. He didn’t.

      Oh, God... ‘OK. Well, congratulations. I’m going to go.’

      She didn’t wait for a farewell, but started weaving her way immediately through the assembled throng. She got to the door before a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

      ‘Georgia...’

      She turned. Forced a bright smile to her face. She was getting quite good at swallowing humiliation now.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You being here really threw me. I’m not...’ He frowned again and looked around at everyone else’s support teams laughing and sharing stories. ‘I’m not used to having someone here for me. Stay for a while longer?’

      One foot was, literally, out of the door. It would be so easy to make an excuse about the sinking sun, the long drive home, and flee. But there was Zander, all freshly showered and apologetic and great-smelling, standing in a room full of excited buzz, inviting her to stay in it. To enjoy everyone else’s post-run high. To vacation in his world for just a short while.

      She scanned his face for signs of being humoured. ‘Maybe for a bit, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

      ‘Stay. We can chalk this up to a Year of Georgia project.’

      The radio promotion. Of course. Everything came back to that.

      They returned to the place she’d been seated but someone had taken quick advantage of the vacant seat and slid into it. Zander turned and shepherded her through to an area behind the bar. Still busy but quieter. A small table-for-one in the far corner was empty. It didn’t take him long to find a spare chair.

      ‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you out on the road,’ he started, sinking onto one of the seats.

      She waved away the apology. His job was to stay focused on the run, not glance at spectators in case one of them was for him. ‘How do you feel after the run?’

      ‘Always the same. Exhilarated. Drained, yet like I could do it all again. I’ll feel like a conqueror for a few hours yet.’

      ‘How many recovery days do you have?’

      His lips parted in a smile and in this private little corner of the bar it was all for her. ‘You really are a quick study.’

      Heat filled her cheeks. ‘They were quite long roadside vigils.’ And lots of listening so that she didn’t have to talk too much to strangers.

      A genuine smile lit up his face. ‘Sorry. I should have run faster.’

      They chatted more about the race, the pastime, the rules, and the challenges, and Georgia found herself sinking into his obvious engagement.

      ‘You look totally different,’ she blurted.

      ‘In civvies?’

      ‘No. When you talk about running your entire face changes. You become so animated.’

      ‘How do I normally look?’

      She gestured to his frown. ‘More like that. When you’re talking about work. This Zander is...very human.’

      His eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. I’m not even human in London?’

      What the hell? She’d intruded on his space, she might as well go the whole way. He was a puzzle she wanted to solve. ‘You’re so guarded in London.’

      He shrugged—totally guarded—and she regretted raising it. ‘I’m in work mode when I see you. It’s not London’s fault.’

      ‘Are you saying you’re not yourself when you’re in work mode?’

      ‘A different part of myself.’

      ‘So which is more you—this Zander or London Zander?’

      He squinted as he thought about it. ‘I work eighty hours a week so, statistically, being like this is less common. But scarcity just makes me enjoy it more.’

      So he liked this side of him as much as she did.

      Around them a few people stood, as if on cue. He noticed, too.

      ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have a tradition when we run the wall.’

      She followed him out of the King’s Arms, feeling very comfortable and welcome in this crowd—with Zander—even though she knew how out of place she was. Such a fraud. A line of them trooped, beers in hand, down to the banks of the tidal flat that had been halfway out when she’d arrived earlier. Now water lapped right up to the banks. The groups split down into small pairs and threes and spread out along the length of the foreshore. It practically glowed with rich, dusk light.

      ‘Solway Firth,’ Zander said, taking his cue from a pair of nearby cows and sinking onto the grass. ‘Best sunsets in England.’

      ‘And Scotland,’ she said, dropping down next to him and looking across the narrow expanse of water that separated the two countries. She wondered what Scots might be sitting on the opposite banks looking at England and sharing the sunset. Then she looked inland. ‘What town is that down there?’

      Lights twinkled where the tidal flats became a river as the sun lowered.

      ‘Gretna Green.’

      ‘Convenient if we were eloping.’ She laughed.

      But the mention of marriage dented the relaxed companionship that had blossomed between them since they sat back down at the pub.

      ‘Have you never wanted to get married?’ she asked, without thinking about how he might construe such a question. In such a context. With Gretna Green an hour’s stroll away.

      His answer